"And I thought you didn't take missions like this..."
Pouring us a couple of mugs of local swill, which reeked of the painfully familiar smell of cursed Hubba-gourd, the bartender, without waiting for my answer to the question, reached under the counter and pulled out a small but detailed map with several important marks made on it.
"Will you really take it?" Receiving my confident nod in response, the cantina owner skeptically raised one eyebrow, not knowing whether to believe my words or not. And I understood him. Over the past year and a half, I had gained some kind of reputation... Hell, I'd become quite famous on this side of the hemisphere, constantly performing tasks of various kinds. In some places, I was celebrated and treated to food, while in others, they spat at my back, considering me a faint-hearted weakling because I couldn't fulfill a couple of assassination orders. "Fine, if that's the case... Ahem, alright. Let me brief you on the situation..."
While the bartender told me what needed to be done, I nodded in time with his words, showing that I was fully absorbed in the information being received. But in reality, my thoughts were too far from here.
Tatooine was changing. From the front rows, I saw this better than many, although other professional assassins had also begun to notice the changes. And I wanted to find out the reasons for this... To my luck, in the vicinity of the Dune Sea, a suspicious gang had just appeared that, rumor had it, retreats into the sands after every raid...
Into those very sands from which no one ever returned.
But let's leave the tall tales of old hunters and caravanners aside.
More and more often, desert dwellers were attacking, who, regardless of losses, raided cities and villages just to stage a bloodbath, even if all the hunters of their tribes were killed.
Mining towns began to mysteriously disappear, completely and without any trace. People, houses, equipment... Everything evaporated, leaving behind only the rotten local structures that didn't interest the kidnappers.
Caravans returned home less often, forever vanishing in the wastelands, and the saddest trend was that the more guards a caravan had, the higher its chance of perishing in the desert.
Troubled times were coming, and if local farmers felt it as a strange tingling between the kidneys—though sometimes that was just the hubba-gourd rotgut talking—then we, those who were often at the edge of danger...
We understood that something unknown was coming, something that would change Tatooine forever.
"Remembered everything?"
"Of course, I understand everything," catching the bartender's skeptical look, I salute him with my mug, then, grabbing the map, I exit the cantina, standing under the bright rays of the suns. "Did you remember what he said back there?"
Slapping herself on the face with a paw, Shorty snatched the map from me and began poking her fingers at different places, pointing to red circles that marked former settlements destroyed in recent months.
"New gang. The one we looked for. Lives in ruins."
"I thought desert dwellers were constantly nomadic, moving from place to place..."
"Not just desert dwellers. Others there. Farmers. Miners. Many people..."
"They united? Now that's getting interesting."
"Saw different ones. Signs on clothes same."
"I see, I see... Alright, give it here. Let's go look for these highwaymen of knife and axe; maybe everything will turn out much more complicated than I think..."
***
It didn't.
Pressing the Blaster to my chest, I feverishly reload the rifle clamped between my legs with my other hand.
Sitting with my back to a stone, I flinched every time a particularly large piece of my cover broke off. And they broke off very rhythmically—exactly on the timer of how a heavy mounted blaster reloads.
BOOM!
To the left of my head, a couple of centimeters from my ear—a particularly large piece was torn off and went flying into the distance with a crash, making me and Shorty flinch.
"Almost... Almost..."
Shoving the last bullet into the carbine, I snap the barrel shut with a jerk, then drop to my side, leaning out from behind the stone.
"Aaaaah! Take this!"
Firing with both hands, I tried to shoot back at the encroaching bandits, who turned out to be many times more numerous than I was told...
Hell, there were many times more of them than I could have imagined!
Nearly a hundred souls armed with blasters! Where has that ever been seen?!
"Pull back!"
Shouting to Shorty, I continue to fire, trying not to waste all the ammo in a couple of seconds, but even so, despite all my efforts, Shorty dragged me back behind the stone with empty magazines.
"Shit... This is the last cartridge for the Blaster... Need to think of something..."
While I indulged in reflections, sitting under the suffocating fire that pinned me down from all sides, leaving only a tiny patch for safety, shouts were heard from the bandits' side.
"What are they yelling about over there?" Peeking out from behind the stone, I just blinked absurdly, then dove back. "Looks like we're in deep, Shorty... Ha-ha-ha. Just like Malevelon Creek!"
"!№;%:!№;"
"I'll tell you later!" Having fun and miraculously not getting hit by shots, I leaned out from behind the stone again, dousing the enemy with both hands. Explosions from the revolver carbine made the bastards quiet down... though only for a short while. "Tough bastards. Can't you just clear off back to where you came from?!"
In response, I got malicious laughter and a couple of directions where I could go along with my Jawa. Yeah... Not particularly polite, but overall fair. I probably shouldn't have blown up their transport right off the bat... On the other hand, I deprived them of mobility and the chance to stage surprise raids on settlements, so I fulfilled my personal mission one hundred percent!
But in reality, our current situation evoked some unhealthy associations and emotions in me. I don't even know how to accurately convey what I was experiencing...
Through the hot sands of Tatooine, strange sounds surrounded me—deafening shards of the past broke through before my eyes, distant shots and the whisper of the wind, as if the planet itself foretold an approaching storm.
Amidst smoke and stench that occasionally took my breath away. I always thought that after decades of my existence in this endless desert, I would never again find myself on the edge of life and death.
But naivety is apparently my main vice, after stupidity.
Ambush.
My heart beat so fast it seemed its thumps were capable of waking even the dead. They were putting on a real show for me; shots echoed among the sands, and I couldn't help but smile.
Yes, exactly that, smile, though deep down I tried to suppress this feeling—vile, disgusting, and dangerous...
So many years spent in the shadows, hoping to forget, and now, when I had almost forgotten...
What is it like to feel alive when the feeling of joy from war has returned? A rebellious, all-consuming sensation that grabs you by the head.
I became a Helldiver not of my own will.
Once I was an ordinary human, but war made a killing machine out of me, and I always hoped I could turn away from it. Forget it, leave it somewhere back there... With Super Earth, the Automatons, and the Terminids...
But in reality, all the time I tried to live a peaceful life, I knew that inside me hid that wild monster that thirsts for blood and adrenaline.
And now, in this sandy desert, pressed against a stone, I felt simple instincts awakening, gradually opening the doors to long-closed corners of my soul. Every moment was full of anticipation, as if at any second I could become part of this chaos.
And only my will, convictions, and hope allowed me to remain myself and not plunge into battle with a mad cry for liberty and democracy...
How I didn't want to return to this!
Every shot, every scar received on my soul reminded me of what I was...
Of what I had lost.
Deep down, I knew this joy was a trap; it was about to make me plunge into an abyss from which escape would be impossible.
And I didn't want to be who I was before—an adrenaline junkie caring only about his own interests.
Through a consciousness clouded by circumstances, I felt the air filling with tension. It was something more than just fear and anticipation.
It was joy that dark clouds of doubt and shame tried to strangle. I smiled in surprise, tossing between fear of myself and recklessness toward my enemies.
My will was cracking at the seams, and I swore to myself that I wouldn't stage a massacre once again...
Aiming the carbine at the enemy, I pulled the trigger without hesitation, feeling my shoulder shudder from the impact of the recoil.
A muffled shot rang out, and for a moment, everything stopped.
It was madness. I tried to talk myself into stopping, torn between dark passion and pressure in my eyes.
But...
When you catch the adrenaline...
When your chest tightens in attempts to push a little more air into your lungs...
When your body shakes slightly from the tension in your muscles, and the realization of your victory covers you completely...
When else, if not now?
Every cell of my body screamed for freedom, for the will to live—precisely in this moment on the edge of existence.
"For SUPER EARTH!"
Tumbling, I dropped to my stomach, gripping Mizuna's carbine with both hands, then emptied the entire magazine straight into my enemies' heads.
Flashes of explosions lit up the sunset sky with sparse clouds.
Frightened by the unexpected changes, the bandits hesitated... They stopped, ceased firing...
That was their mistake.
"Democracy!"
Springing up, I lunged straight at them, whipping out the Blaster and continuing to fire to kill. My strong hands didn't falter once; the Blaster struck accurately and without error, hitting the target every time I moved my wrist further.
Bursting into their positions, I felt like a wolf in a sheep pen.
"Liberty is already here..."
***
Opening my eyes, I emerge from the memories. I had to massage my eyelids with my fingers and slap my cheeks lightly to more or less come to my senses. I only had to doze off for a bit, and I dreamed that dream again, where I showed my not-so-best side.
Rising to my feet, I stand beside Shorty, who was perched on a small stone, dangling her legs over the precipice.
"This is the last city before we enter the Dune Sea," brushing off my favorite grey cloak, I stand to my full height, peering at the city sprawling in the valley. Sheltered from the winds and bright sunbeams by the surrounding mountains, Western Oasis was a true paradise for hundreds of kilometers around, being the last point of civilization before the endless sand dunes visible on the horizon. That's where, theoretically, the remnants of the "Desert Rules" gang had taken cover, and also where the planet's colonists who survived the shipwreck should reside. "Maybe you should stay after all? I heard a grown man dries up there in half an hour."
"Possible. Then you should become naive child? Become again."
"Very funny." Forcing a crooked smile, I tilt my head back to the sky, feeling the bright rays of Tatooine's two suns trying to bake us in our own juice. "Alright, let's head into the city anyway, or else..."
Sniffing the collar of my cloak, I grimace in astonishment, realizing what an aroma my body is spreading.
"That's just grim."
"On the bright side. You're like a Jawa now. You almost smell like one."
"Wonderful. Probably the best compliment you've given me since the moment you learned to speak."
"You earned it. Recently." Snorting, or perhaps laughing—despite the time we'd spent together, it was still hard for me to read her genuine emotions rather than the performative ones. "I told you. You were deaf."
"How sweet. All right, let's go. No point in drawing more attention to ourselves by standing in edgy poses on top of a hill."
Shorty didn't have time to answer because I simply tucked her under my arm and leaped down, sliding along the sandy slope.
Reaching the bottom, I set the snide brat back on her feet, receiving a jab in the side as thanks. Truth be told, she only reached my thigh, which made it look more amusing than anything.
Over the two years of our travels together, I'd gotten to know my companion quite well. She told me about her life, and in return, I told her why the current world was slowly driving me insane.
You know, there was nothing wrong with sharing a secret with a friend. Her attitude toward me didn't change at all; if anything, after I revealed my secret, she began to understand much better what was going on in my war-concussed head.
The insightful apprentice Shaman was not only an excellent conversationalist but also a good head-shrinker... at least, she was nothing like those sawbones from Super Earth who would look into a mirror-glass—behind which the security goons "hid"—at your every comment.
Most importantly, I'd more or less managed to learn her language, and now we could communicate normally, which made things significantly easier.
"Alright, a brief session of enjoying the scenery... And—off we go. Time's up."
"I am pleased by the changes. In you. But. You have become like a Bantha. A sick one."
"I love your commentary," I said, adjusting my backpack and walking with a confident stride into the large white-stone city—though here it had a slightly yellowish tint. "How did I ever live without it in the previous world..."
"Careful. I am not the only one who hears your words. Be more vigilant, Helldiver." Grumbling at my side, Shorty reached out her hand, and I habitually pulled her up, seating her on my shoulder so she wouldn't have to maneuver and hop through the crowd. "You make a good Ronto."
"You already made that joke."
"The joke has not become worse."
"Oh, I doubt that." Chuckling at Shorty's words, I calmly bypassed surprised passersby who looked at our pair with doubt in their own sanity. Usually, Jawas here are treated with quite a bit of prejudice, seen as scavengers or... well, probably like gypsies. Small, Sly thieves rooting through the trash of old times. It's one thing to buy junk from them, but to be friends? Unlikely. "I wonder if there's a decontaminator here? I'd be happy with even that kind of shower."
"Is naivety a trait of every Helldiver? I thought you were grim warriors. But you are like a boy. One who has just passed a Rite of passage."
"I know forty-eight ways to kill a man with a belt," my words caused a couple of passersby to gasp in surprise, though most looked at me with skepticism, clearly thinking I was exaggerating, "but I won't be able to stop believing in the best. Better to believe and be wrong than to always expect a trap..."
"Your stories about Super Earth. Conveyed a different thought to me."
"Different world, different realities. There, I had to adapt and live the role, I already told you..."
"I remember. The example. Of the mask grown into the face. A foolish expression."
"Humans are like cockroaches, Wompa rats, and other Brutes... They will always adapt and change."
"An accurate comparison. Partially offensive. But truthful." After a few seconds of silence, Shorty patted my shoulder, pointing toward a decent cantina sticking out from around the corner. "I wish. That my people could. Change."
"Jawas adapted to Tatooine to survive."
"But they should live."
"That's their choice." Ruffling her head—to my surprise, I didn't even get an indignant huff in response—I stopped and spoke more quietly and seriously. "You changed, didn't you? That means someday there will be another, and another... It takes time."
"Perhaps... Ah. Irony has won. I am being comforted by a blockhead killer."
"Ha-ha, indeed. But that's more a mark against you than me."
Dodging another jab from Shorty, I was the first to enter the cantina, and immediately a familiar voice hit my ears. Lustful, with those greasy notes that would make a real shiver run down a woman's spine.
"He-he-he! What a beauty you are! This month I earned a whole pile of credits, so I can afford even you!"
***
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